Arsenic for the Soul (16 page)

“
We should all be thanking
you. Keep up the extraordinary work. I could use a dozen more
students like you.” With those parting words, he slipped out of the
ward. Vivian beamed at his praise, yet she wasn’t thrilled about
the tuberculosis outbreak. This affirmation only spawned more
questions than answers.

She wondered if Milo heard any of
their conversation. He showed no sign of waking as he shifted
restlessly in his bed. She wondered what horrors he witnessed in
the sanitarium—and if they haunted him fiercely in his
sleep.

She kissed him on the cheek and Milo
seemed to calm from his nightmares.

Thank God he’s still alive.
It won’t be long before he’s discharged and I can see him again.
Hopefully he doesn’t remember any of it.
She turned off the lights. With a final look at her love, she
left him in the ward.

As the door shut, a voice hissed over
her shoulder.

“
You just don’t know when
to keep your mouth shut.”

She spun around and saw Crenshaw
leaning against the wall. His arms were folded in a menacing
fashion and his sharp features looked even more haunting in the
dark.

“
You were listening to
us?”

He stepped out of the shadows, but
they seemed reluctant to part from the hideous contours of his
face.

“
Does it matter? You’re
incredibly obstinate for a student a few weeks into her program.
Are you feeding him thoughts about an epidemic?”

Vivian wanted to snap that she had
been in the program for a few months but that was beside the
point.

“
I don’t know for sure if
we’re facing an epidemic or not. I just think we should look into
this. Isn’t it our duty to ask questions as medical
professionals?”

“
You’re not asking
questions. You’re sniffing for trouble. As I said before, this is a
public relations disaster waiting to happen. Keep spreading rumors
and I’ll see you out of this program before you drive this hospital
into the ground—which is where we’re all headed if you keep this
mess up. I’ll be having a chat with the director about
you.”

“
That seems pointless now
that we’ve confirmed cases of tuberculosis.”

“
Bryan has no clue what
he’s talking about. Besides, I still have some say over your
punishment for last week. Don’t hold your breath for any favors
from me.”

His eyes roamed over the curves of her
breasts and hips.

“
And least none you can
gain for free.”

Vivian clenched her fists so tightly
that bled welled around her nails. She would have liked nothing
better than to punch him, but she would probably be playing into
his game. Give in to the rage and he would find a way to boot her
even faster from the program—all because she didn’t grovel on her
knees like the other suck-ups.

Venom coursed through her as Crenshaw
shambled away with his vulgar smile. She wasn’t about to let it go
this time.

“
Crenshaw.” The surgeon
halted in his steps. “There’s nothing quite as sad as an adult who
still bullies like a child. But frankly, the term ‘bully’ gives you
too much credit. You have no power over me or anyone else. You’re
just a miserable, withered man. The truth is your students either
fear or despise you, but they certainly don’t love you. As for me?
I pity you.”

Crenshaw only stared at her without a
rebuttal.

Vivian walked away, feeling proud for
regaining control of the situation.

Crenshaw would never victimize her
again. If he crossed the line, she would give him a reason to
regret it.

* * *

Camilla was still driving through the
streets of Prague as the red dawn bled over the horizon. 5 A.M. had
come and gone and she was still gunning the engine an hour later.
She couldn’t sleep after the terrors she witnessed in St. Ignatius
Sanitarium.

She wanted this night to end but the
darkness was perpetual. Sometimes the night lapsed into a crimson
twilight with scintillating colors on the horizon, hinting at a new
day that was never born.

Adding to the eerie beauty, Prague
seemed devoid of life. The city dwellers may as well have fallen
into a comatose sleep. Her car jerked as she turned a sharp corner,
shaking Camilla in her seat.

A storm of bone-grinding noises
signaled an end to her journey. Her tire had run amok of disaster
and was rapidly deflating. She sighed, leaning her forehead against
the steering wheel. When she looked up with sleep-deprived eyes,
the Florenci Apartments loomed above her.

What a mocking coincidence. She drove
for hours only to end up at the doorstep of her apartment, where
this nightmare first took seed. Maybe it was a sign that she needed
to show resolve and confront this.

Feeling more bitter than fearful, she
trudged inside the complex. Perhaps she would scavenge a few more
valuables and keepsakes from her apartment while she was here. An
ambience watered down the air like melancholy rain as she ascended
to the third floor. The self-perpetuating melody tugged on her,
urging her to turn around and leave the way she came. She knew
precisely where that feeling stemmed from when she stepped out of
the elevator.

A lone wisp of a woman was standing
outside of her apartment. Tendrils of dark hair fell from her head
and curled over her shoulders. The skin on arms and hands was fair
as though she rarely ventured under the sun. Even the clothes on
her rail thin figure hung like a veil. Everything about her struck
Camilla as phantasmal, ethereal, and unreal.

This moment seemed like a grandiose
lie. The pale woman soon realized she was being watched.

She slowly turned to face her
daughter.

Camilla fought down the fear that
constricted her chest. She was surprised by the terror gleaming in
her mother’s eyes. In spite of the shock, Camilla’s rage more than
compensated.

“
Were you expecting me?”
she hissed. “The element of surprise isn’t on your side this
time.”

Her mother quickly backed away. She
studied Camilla as one might watch an approaching predator, sizing
up her strength and ferocity. Her eyes nervously darted back and
forth.

“
How can you kill your own
daughter?! How does it feel to stalk the child you gave birth to?!”
Camilla screamed.

Her mother opened her mouth in reply
but no words issued forth. Camilla’s rage boiled over.

“
Why don’t you show me what
it feels like?!”

She whipped out her gun and put her
mother in its sight. Her mother bolted toward the stairwell and
Camilla squeezed the trigger. The explosion of gunpowder deafened
Camilla as the bullet bit a chunk out of the wall. Again, she was
shocked by the raw power of the firearm. She was also terrified by
how easily pulling the trigger came to her.

The scent of gunpowder seemed to waken
something primal and desperate in Camilla. She just wanted to live,
nothing more—but her mother refused to share the world with her.
Camilla raced after her without any thought for the peril lying
ahead. Her knuckles glowed white as she clutched the gun. She
couldn’t reconcile the anger she felt in that instant.

How could a mother ever consider
killing her child out of spite? Only a monster could calmly go
about stalking and taunting her daughter before putting her in the
grave.

As Camilla turned a corner on the
stairs, a silhouette lunged at her with a demonic shriek. She
seized Camilla’s hand gripping the handgun. Her nails dug into her
skin, weakening her hold on the weapon. To Camilla’s credit, she
blocked out the pain and tried to turn the barrel on
her.

For a moment they grappled on the
stairs, staggering closer to the banister overlooking the gardens.
Suddenly, the gun roared and a bullet pierced the ceiling. Camilla
screamed at her mother as hot tears ran down her face.

“
I didn’t ruin your life!
Just because I was born!
Just because I
exist!
”

The gun slipped from her hands and
clattered against the floor. Her mother was no longer there. In the
frenzy of battle, she pushed her daughter away and fled.

Camilla surrendered to the tears that
broke free of her emotional prison.

She didn’t want to her kill her own
mother. Camilla fantasized about the day when she would walk into
her embrace. She imagined a reunion where her mother never let her
go and promised to remain at her side from this day forward. They
would recapture all the precious moments that had been stolen from
them. She wanted to feel her mother’s arms around her as she
inevitably broke down sobbing.

She never expected to encounter a
woman hell-bent on murdering her.

Camilla punched the floor. The thought
of attacking her mother, nonetheless killing her, brought the taste
of vomit surging to her lips. She wasn’t a violent person by
nature. It clashed with her desire to avoid conflict and please
others.

Maybe her mother would realize her
error and try to amend it. However, given the nature of their
reunions, that scenario was unlikely. One of them was bound to die
sooner or later.

She dreaded and longed for the next
encounter.

* * *

Vivian didn’t have to wait long for a
press conference from the University Hospital. Over the course of
the week, twelve cases of lupus vulgaris were confirmed. What
surprised her was the possibility of an additional 100 in-patients
who may be afflicted with skin tuberculosis but weren’t showing any
symptoms. She listened to the press conference avidly over the
radio in the living room. One excerpt from the announcement
bothered her more than a little.

“
The mutation that has
occurred has changed the structure of the tuberculosis-causing
bacteria. This strain has shown itself to be particularly
drug-resistant, which leaves the effectiveness of vaccines in
question. We are collaborating with the Ministry of Health to
create a buffer around the index case to prevent further spread of
infection. We would like to stress that this isn’t a public health
crisis, but we encourage the community to take all necessary
precautions when it comes to their safety and
wellbeing.”

“
In other words, your
relatives and loved ones in the hospital stand a good chance of
dying,” Vivian muttered, switching off the radio. One always had to
read in between the lines when it came to these contrived public
health announcements.

As with any emerging disease, mass
hysteria was only a stone’s throw away. The implied risk to friends
and family in the hospital only added media fuel to the fire.
Everyone was looking for someone to blame.

There was no shortage of theories
concerning the outbreak as the media painted a clearer picture of
this narrative’s scapegoat. Over the next few days, one theory
gained public favor with rabid zeal.

More headlines about immigrants
spreading disease began to circulate. Notwithstanding the fact that
this disease didn’t spread like airborne tuberculosis, the public
didn’t seem to connect the dots. After all, logic often falls flat
in the face of terror.

Vivian first sensed something amiss in
the community when she was walking home on a rainy afternoon. As
she strolled through the drizzle, she spotted a crowd protesting
outside of a housing project known for harboring immigrants. That
wouldn’t have been too extraordinary were it not for the xenophobic
chants and signs. When she looked at the gathering of protestors,
her gut dropped. Their faces were twisted in hatred and their
mouths never seemed to stop moving. Some of the men spewed
obscenities while others demanded a travel ban be imposed on the
Czech Republic.

“
You’ve got to be kidding
me.”

Vivian was proud to belong
to a family of immigrants and no one could shame her into feeling
otherwise. When she thought about it, shame was often applied to
her throughout her life. Men like Crenshaw tried to shame her for
being a woman in a man’s profession, the community at large tried
to shame her for belonging to a dark cybergoth culture, and
now
this
. No one
could tell by looking at her if she was an immigrant—unless they
based assumptions off her non-European heritage. After all, the
Chinese formed one of the smaller immigrant communities
here.

She caught herself mid-stumble when
she noticed a few older women staring at her.

Even the youngest daughter among them
ogled Vivian as though she was a wicked creature.

She didn’t want to fathom the thoughts
in their heads. Something to the effect of “filthy immigrants” was
most likely being whispered among them. Of course, they were too
cowardly to say it to her face.

Disdain curled on her tongue. How many
people thought they were better than her because of her race or
gender? How many bigots wallowed in their deluded supremacy,
believing themselves to be mightier because of their skin
color?

She thought wryly of her first
interracial relationship. Her boyfriend’s family believed their son
should date strictly within his race. Consequently, she never
earned their approval, and her boyfriend’s mother and sister
sabotaged the relationship every step of the way.